All's Fair in Love and War
by Melody Blanchard
Summary: After her father's tragic death, Elizabeth Blanchard reluctantly travels across the U.S. back to her home state of New York to attend the funeral. Unfortunately for her, she accidentally gets caught up in the involvement of S.H.I.E.L.D. and becomes a new target for the God of Mischief. Warning: Rated M. I don't own Avengers. Loki/OC
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's Note: Hello all! This is officially my first Avengers story. I originally tried to write a story under the Thor section, but it wasn't working out for me so I decided to settle on something else. And this came to my mind. I should let you all off with a warning: this story is going to be **dark** and perhaps a little whimsical. There is a reason this story is going to be rated **M**. If you don't like that kind of material, I suggest you shouldn't read this. I really hope and pray that you all enjoy this as much as I love writing it. Thank you and continue on reading! Oh - and if you're wondering, I imagine Elizabeth as Nina Dobrev =)

All's Fair in Love and War

Chapter I

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"Say my name."

It is a soft yet poisonous demand. The dark, velvet voice propels shivers down my spine. His desirable voice, his burning touch, governs me in many ways I cannot comprehend. Long, artistic fingers slither up my waist, leaving delightful sensations in its wake. I could not help myself but lean into his deliciously gloomy touch. He knows how much I enjoy it, how much I relish in his blissful connection that makes me yearn for more. I angle my head, craning my neck, revealing bare skin as I release a soft moan. Desire pools into my stomach, heat traveling down between my legs, burning sensations dominating me.

When I don't answer or comply with his lethal request, his beautifully sculpted hand glides its way up my body until he reaches my neck. He is standing behind me – standing so close I can feel his tall form behind me, his front pressing against my trembling back. He firmly grips my neck, not painfully but enough pressure to warn me to not play coy with his demand. For some reason, I enjoy it when he holds me like this. I certainly enjoy it when he brings out the dominant side within him. It's refreshingly sexy, evil, forbidden.

"I can't." I manage to whisper, my eyes slowly falling shut as I lean backwards. My breaths become short and quick. Sometimes when I am around him I feel like I can't breathe. I wonder if he has this compelling effect on all women. I instantly frown of the thought. Jealousy rages through my body like a dangerous hurricane. I suddenly sense feeling possessive. No one can have him. Why am I feeling so strange? That confusing thought scraps out of my head as soon as I realize that his chin is resting in an angle between my shoulder and neck, his firm grip on my neck long gone. His talented hands are now resting around my waist, successfully bringing me closer, if even possible.

"Why not?"

His whisper is venomous; perhaps like a snake would sound if they were human. I visibly shiver from the sound of his compelling voice. His fingers around my waist tighten a bit. But I do not flinch. I endure being entranced from his scorching touch. A sweet aroma invades my nose; his masculine scent conquers my being. I can hear his deep, ragged breathing in my ear. A small coy smile tugs at my lips. My eyes gently closed, I reply, "You don't deserve the satisfaction of hearing your name upon my lips."

A wry chuckle escapes from his sensual mouth as he replies in a shady tone, "you forget, foolish girl; that satisfaction is not within my nature."

"Then what is?"

The only answer I receive is something sleek and sharp driving through the lower region of my back. I cry out from shock. The blinding pain is unbearable. The sharp object continues to slide through my flesh, triggering more throbbing agony that conveys immediate tears to my eyes. I can feel the absolute ooze of darkened blood, dripping harshly from the bloody gash that he gives me. One hand of his is still wrapped around my stomach, my only redeemer keeping me from falling helplessly. His other hand wielding the sharp blade that's pierced through my aching body. A silent scream tries to escape from my mouth but for some reason, I can't find my voice. Tears finally shed down my cheek in shameful trails. I feel him leaning close to my ear, releasing a hiss similar to a treacherous snake that terrifies me to the core.

"Dominance is what I crave, my love. Never forget that."

Shockingly, I feel myself being wretched away from his grip. Darkness consumes me. I comprehend the amazing fact that I can't feel pain anymore. Yet I also can't see a thing. Ripples. I sense ripples. Beautiful waves. I peer around curiously. Wherever I am, it's dark. I can't see a thing. Suddenly, I'm choking. Air or water, I can't tell. My throat closes up, making it hard for me to breathe. I'm surrounded inside liquid. Water. I open my eyes wide and realize I am underneath water. I fight for the surface, wanting to be able to breathe sweet air.

My arms flail around, propelling me slowly towards the surface as I compete for my oxygen. Need to breathe. I slice through the surface of the water. I choke as I reach the beautiful surface. I gulp in deeply, breathing in delicious air. I feel alive again as I sigh, floating in the dark waters, wondering where exactly I am.

I'm abruptly yanked back down into the biting water. A thousand needles pierce through me; not literally. Since the water feels so cold, I feel like I'm being stabbed a million times over and over. I attempt to hold my breath and fight against the strong force that's dragging me downward into the deep dark abyss. I dare my eyes to look down and see nothing but ink-black hair. I know it's him. He wants to kill me. I know it.

Unexpectedly, I comprehend the fact that I can breathe again. Underwater. I can breathe underwater. I'm not holding my breath anymore or choking on the inside or slowly decaying. I glance around in the darkness, not seeing a trace of him.

Not a moment later, I spot something. My curiosity spikes. I force myself forward, intrigued, unable to contain myself. I swim forward, the image becoming clearer. It's a truck, from what I can tell. Slowly, dread pools in my belly. My body stills for a moment before I swim closer, daring to take a look. I can feel my heart pounding on the inside like a continuous drum. It pounds each second I swim closer. I regret the moment of swimming closer.

To my horror, I regrettably recognize the person perched inside the truck, floating lifelessly inside the murky water.

I gape. I want to say something but I can't. My hand slowly reaches up and touches the screen of the window. I stare at my father's lifeless body floating uselessly inside the van. I want to cry, scream, shout, but I can't. I only stare blankly.

Suddenly, someone grabs the back of my head, yanking the drowning tresses of my hair in a painful grip before slamming my entire head into the window of the truck –

I awaken. My brown eyes flutter open. I instantly regret opening them too soon due to the brightness of the early morning sun bathing the inside of my room. The sunrise is beautiful yet annoying in a way. Beautiful because it's a beginning of a new day. Annoying because it's too early. I shift under my warm covers to glance at the time. I pick up my iPhone to read that it's seven o'clock in the morning. Yep. Too early.

I groan drowsily and lazily wipe some of the grime out of my eyes. My wondrous mind immediately shifts to the eerie dream I had. Déjà vu consumes me. Every night in my dreams, I see him. He's in my nightmares. He invades them every night. Sometimes I see him, him in all his darkness. Sometimes I see another man with a glorious blonde mane. I like to refer to him as my guardian angel; an angel who protects me; protects me from evil itself. The evil itself likes to assault in my dreams; control over me, make me say things, make me feel things, make me think things.

It feels the same every night when I go to bed. These fascinating yet spooky dreams have been haunting me since I was young. I could never escape from them. These nightmares are the other half of me. These nightmares want to subjugate me, conquer me. I sense that he wants to rule over me. I always feel that my guardian angel wants to protect me from him. But for some odd reason, my guardian angel wasn't there to protect me this time from harm.

It's strange, really. I never felt absolute pain in my dreams. Only sometimes I would be embarrassingly aroused, but never extreme pain. I truly feel as if I've been stabbed in the back; literally. I remember in my dream, I could actually feel the warm blood seeping from the open wound, staining my body. My hands slide to my back, feeling no wound, no blood; nothing. Feeling as if I was drowning was creepy; I truly felt as if I was choking on water. Seeing my father in my dream; I never experienced anything like that before. My heart clenched at the thought of my father dying. I could never bear the horrendous thought.

I frown and wipe some of my hair out of my face, sweat lightly beaded along my forehead I notice.

I release a heavy sigh and reluctantly push myself out from under the covers, heading towards my bathroom to observe my appearance in the mirror. I cringe at the nasty sight. Darkened circles form under my eyes; making it appear as if I haven't slept in days. My face seems more pasty than usual. It's a shocking contrast due to my naturally olive-toned skin. Perspiration is beaded along my forehead. I wipe it off as I stare at my hideous complexion. I'm starting to look more like a Tim Burton character these days. My hair doesn't help the situation much either since it appears to look like a rat's nest at the moment.

I jump in fright as I hear my phone ringing from my bedroom. An annoyed groan sounds from my bedroom and I slightly smirk, remembering that my best friend doesn't like to be wakened up early. Padding back to the bedroom, I grab my phone and check the screen to see that my mother is calling me.

"For the love of God, please answer it. I'm trying to sleep." Faith moans in annoyance as she stuffs her head under a pillow. I suppress a laugh as I turn back to my phone.

"Hello?" I answer quietly, stifling a yawn as I tread towards to my bed, careful to not make too much noise of waking my roommate/best friend sleeping on the other side of the room. Why is my mother calling at such an early hour? I suddenly remember that the time in the state of New York is different from California. It would be about ten o'clock in the morning over there right now.

"Good morning, Elizabeth, hon." My mother spoke in a soft tone, so soft that I could barely hear her.

"Morning, mom." I say, speaking in a hushed tone to not wake up the best friend. "You're calling very early… how are you doing?"

"Yes I am. And I'm okay right now, hanging in there. Are you all right, hon? I sure hope everything is okay down in Cali. You never call anymore."

"Mom, I know, I'm sorry. That was my fault. I've been side-tracked and busy a while," I say. "But don't worry, mom, I'm fine." That is a lie, I think to myself. "If anything, I hope you and dad are doing well; speaking of dad, what is he up to? Is he around? I want to talk with him."

There is a pregnant pause.

"Honey, I've been aching to tell you that," she says and my heart drops to my belly. No, she doesn't mean… She sighs sadly and says, "Elizabeth, I hate to tell you over the phone I really do… Your father died in a car crash late last night."

My phone slips from my fingers.

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	2. Chapter II

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_**Author's Note: Thank you all so much to all who is reading! Really, it makes my day to see that this story is hopefully not a failure.**_

A huge and warm thank you for everyone who **reviewed **last chapter: _Azura Soul Reaver_, _nannygirl_, _Acaica_, _grapejuice101_, and _VioletDream13_.

A definite enormous thank you to everyone who **followed** and **favored**: _Azura Soul Reaver_, _DaisyPierce_, _Nymartian_, _SapphireDreamer26_, _VioletDream13_, _WritingisLove_, _grapejuice101_, _smileyheather24_, _xoavdonahue_, _Acaica_, and _LadyRocelyn_.

**I definitely want to dedicate this chapter to **_seasidewriter1_, _grapejuice101_, _nannygirl_ **and** _Acaica_ **for being such supporting wonderful people and helping me out with ideas and just in general being there. All of you are equally amazing; I proudly dedicate this chapter to all of you!**

**For the rest of you, enjoy! =) **

All's Fair in Love and War

Chapter II

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The cold and bitter New York air nips at my skin, triggering goose-bumps grazing all over my body. It's an overcast chilly day in November; the month in which my father has unexpectedly passed away. I learned of his passing over two weeks ago. Shockingly, a car crash was all it took to wipe out his entire existence. When I did hear of his passing, I cried and cried. I shed so many tears that dreadful day. My own best friend couldn't even comfort or cheer me up. His death struck something inside of me, so deep down. It actually _hurt_. I was drowning in an ocean of pain; I _still_ am.

My shock-stricken mother stands between my younger brother and me. A soiled tissue that she uses to soak up the last remaining of her tears is crushed between her withering fingers. Her tears of grief smudges her makeup especially the mascara. Earlier, I warned her that she should have chosen waterproof.

It's shocking, really. Never have I expected for my father to have his lights go out soon. I always envisioned him to live longer and die by my mother's side, warm in bed, as a much older, withering man full of accomplishments. My father was a good man; he certainly didn't deserve to decease like this. No. _He wasn't supposed to die like this._

Sorrowful tears cloud and blur my vision as I stand close to my mother, basking in her endless anguish. We stand together; my mother, younger brother whose aged-twelve, and me, surrounded by many people who come to pay their respects for my dear father who I will always love: Abe Blanchard, C.E.O. of Oscorp Industries.

Before I moved away to college in California, I was very close with my father. From time to time, we would team up together and tease my mother; he would scream at me for talking back, joke with me and remind me that he was proud. We clashed a lot of the time, but he always tried to make me smile and get me what I wanted or do what was best for me. I loved him. I still love him.

The difference between my mother and father for me; my mother was always on my side. I've always been closer with my father but my mother always had my back. When I was growing up as a young girl, she would work from home, so I was practically around her twenty-four seven. This may sound cheesy or cliché, but I can honestly count my mother as one of my best friends; we're both there for each other.

My hand slowly reaches out and clasps against my mother's own hand. I feel the soft touch of her palm caressing my own, attempting to comfort me. A shaky breath leaves my mouth as I stand solemnly at my father's funeral service.

Everything seems so dreary as the priest says his not-so-heartening speech regarding my father's success. I watch with my alert eyes but my ears are on their mute setting. I can't hear anything the priest is saying. Quite frankly, I don't want to hear what the priest is saying. It's quite depressing, really. The gloomy atmosphere surrounding the pitiful funeral only makes it more miserable for me to stand through. I've actually never been to a funeral before. It sucks to say that my first attendance to a funeral is my father's.

The cemetery that we reside in is tediously despondent. Despair lingers in the cold air. Unmistakable expressions of anguish are written on everyone's faces. Surprisingly, many people are here today to pay their respects; most of them family, some of them people that my father has worked with in the past. The entire day, it's been nothing but the words that consist of "I'm sorry for your loss" or "Your father is in a happy place".

Everywhere I look and turn, I see people staring at me. Whispers are being exchanged all around me. It's making me feel sick that I have to stand here and allow everyone here to pity me; I don't want to be pitied upon. I don't want to be that girl who will only be remembered as the daughter of the late Abe Blanchard. I refuse to allow people to only look at me that way.

An exhausted sigh releases from my mouth as I tug my black-jacket to keep me warm. My depressed eyes try to look anywhere but at the white casket that my father's corpse resides in. Sitting next to the casket of death is where the collage of pictures of my father and of my family. It's a beautiful collage but every time I glance at it, I feel haunted. I try to avert my eyes anywhere else that doesn't have the painful reminder of death written all over.

"_Let us commend_," the priest says, "_Abe Blanchard, to the mercy of God_."

It's too much to bear. I try to drown out the commendation speech that the priest is giving. It's too much for me to handle. More tears threaten to cloud my woe vision. I'm about to ask my mother for a spare tissue when my eyes clear up and I take notice to something strange; awfully strange.

Chills shoot down my spine like icicles as I stare ahead of me. _Have I gone mad?_ I turn and look to see if anyone else is seeing what I'm seeing. No one seems to be even paying attention. Everyone appears as if they zoned out, completely blank.

I turn forward and shudder at the terrifying sight. Horrifyingly, I suddenly comprehend the fact that I am looking at _me_…

All I can do is stare ahead of me. A girl stands in front of my father's casket yet no one seems to notice her, not even my mother or brother. This girl, this brown-eyed, brown-haired girl, looks scarily like me. I'm literally looking at _me_. My suffering heart drums heavily against my chest as I stare in fright at this weird look-alike of me.

The only difference that you can tell it's not me is the interesting wardrobe. Instead of the black-funeral dress and jacket that I'm unfortunately wearing today for the dreadful occasion, this look-alike is wearing from what it appears to be a Renaissance gown; color of dark ruby-red, silken material, plunging cleavage with beautifully-designed gold-trimming and long sleeves. Her long, flowing brown hair is elegantly curled and embraced by unique flower pins holding it all together in a sophisticated bun.

At this point, I realize that I'm shaking. My knees are wobbling uncontrollably. _Is this really happening?_ Once again, I spin around to see if anyone is recognizing the fact that there is an unwelcomed visitor who scarily looks just like me. My eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, my mind swimming, the question floating around in my head: _what the hell is going on here?_

Shudders crawl up and down my spine. I turn frontward and stare at the strange girl. She's looking at me now, _staring_ at me. Her brown eyes capture my own. I feel like I'm staring at my reflection. Then, she smiles at me. But this was no innocent smile; no smile that appears to be genuine and kind. This smile sends chills through me. Malice is clearly written on her face.

"Who are you?" my voice is barely above a terrifying whisper. "_What_ are you?"

Her only loathing response is raising her right hand. My eyes travel over the length of her graceful arm as I fearfully recognize a small weapon in her hand: a dagger. I stare at her in confusion. Much to my shock and disgust, she lifts her hand up and presses the steel blade against her bare neck and slices it quickly.

My eyes widen as I see blood oozing down from the open wound. My own hands clutch my own neck, as if I feel the agony myself. The look-alike only stared at me with that creepy grin of hers. Waves of nausea ripple through me like an outrageous hurricane. The horrifying image of me slitting my neck and blood dripping all over the place makes me want to hurl. I instantly shut my eyes firmly to block out that bloody sight. Only the next second that I open them, the gory image of me is gone. My eyes snap around hysterically, trying to spot her. _It must have been a hallucination._ Sweat beads across my forehead as my breathing becomes heavier and more frantic.

My mother seems to notice this change of behavior as she looks me in the eye and asks in a soft, concerned tone, "Are you all right, Beth?"

"Yeah," I lie, trying to attempt a shaky smile. She nods, appearing to believe me as she turns forward, the crumpled tissue being brought back to her nose as she stifles a running nose. I try to calm myself down but my mind keeps drifting towards the ugly image of me. _What was that all about? _I inhale and exhale softly, a small trick my mother taught me at a young age whenever I got nervous or panicky.

The priest's enduring speech last about for another couple of minutes before some people went up and gave speeches of their own, some actually brought tears to my eyes. Finally, I volunteer to say a few words about my father to all these people. The night before, I prepared and wrote a speech. I kept it in my pocket just in case. My mother gives me an encouraging nod as I force myself away from her and my brother, walking slowly towards the platform that stands beside the casket. I realize exactly how freezing it is today as I advance forward. The miserable wind howls and bites at me but I only ignore as I make myself comfortable in front of the podium.

Nervously, I dare a glance upwards and identify exactly how many people are here. Too many. I recognize some familiar faces and see a lot of unknowns. I've always had stage-fright, ever since I was a young girl. Anxiety waves over me. I cast my gaze downwards, my apprehensive hands clutching the podium for support. I reach into my jacket to retrieve my speech. I unfold it and stare down at it for a moment.

It takes a moment for me to start saying, "Hi, everyone." I nervously clear my throat before continuing, "Before I say what I have to say, I just want to thank everyone for being here today." I glance up and look at the gathering of people; a lot of them share faces of quiet appreciation. This gives me a bit of encouragement as I say, "Honestly… my dad was my hero. For most of my young life, I often felt at odds with the society I grew up in. I seemed to have very different thoughts and opinions about God, religion, politics, the value of human and animal life and other logical and moral subjects."

I swallow thickly as I continue, "I grew up feeling alone and far too liberal in my thoughts, to the point of disagreeing with many people, except for my dad. I always found a common understanding in my father. It makes me realize how much of him lives on inside of me." Reading this speech in front of all these people tugs at my heart. Unshed tears glimmer in my eyes, making it harder to read. I briefly take a moment to look down at my mother. Her smile encourages that she's proud of me.

I blink away the tears and say, "I feel in my heart that my dad was truly the closest thing to real life saint. He was a gentle and kind soul, avoided conflict and always tried to make people laugh. He always avoided telling others what to believe or how to live their life. Even as a parent, he was reluctant to give me and my younger brother, Johnny, advice. It was so important for us to make our own choices and be happy with our decisions. As long as we weren't hurting anyone else, it was okay with him."

Shockingly, I see small smiles spreading across people's faces. This makes me feel more heartened as I say in a stronger and clearer voice, "I realize my dad was still human and had his faults. At times, he had issues with smoking and drinking and could very occasionally lose his temper. But he never lost his empathy for anyone who might be suffering, anywhere in the world. He was an amazing man to whom I will always be grateful for sharing with me some of his many talents including juggling, his love of bicycling, music and dancing, the importance of good education, and most importantly, his compassion for all living things."

I pause in my speech as I notice a particular person. From across the cemetery, I can spot a lone figure standing beside a gigantic tree. The figure from my line of vision appears to be a man wearing a crisp business suit with a pair of sunglasses draped across his eyes. It strikes me odd since the sun has disappeared completely today. The man is just standing there with his hands behind his back, looking at me expectantly.

I don't recognize him whatsoever so I cast my eyes back onto my paper to finish, "I am relieved to say that thanks to the love and support he received from his beautiful wife, my mother, Barbara, his wonderful devoted son, my brother, Johnny, myself, his friends, doctors, employees, colleagues, and all those who knew him, I truly believe my father died a happy man. Thank you."

My speech is met with claps of approval. I attempt a weak smile and step down from the podium, my eyes never leaving the strange business man that's still hovering by the tree.

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I feel uneasy by the time the funeral service is over. After I left the podium, everything passed around like a blur. Many people greeted and gave their compliments about the speech I spoke. Apparently, people loved it. Instead of basking in the glory of appreciation, I only nodded politely and said my thanks to everyone.

I still see the business man standing by the tree trunk. _Why is he looking at me?_ Should I walk over and interrogate what he wants? I watch the man carefully, trying to scan any evidence that would make him look suspicious. I make up my mind and I am about to approach the man when someone steps right into my way. I swallow a growl that's threatening to escape my throat.

I force myself to look up and realize that it's my father's colleague and boss, ruthless industrialist Norman Osborn, co-owner of Oscorp Industries. His smile from what I can tell is forced and he's looking at me with that intense gaze. Truthfully, I've never liked Osborn that much. He was always so creepy and I didn't like the way he treated his son dispassionately.

I spread a fake smile across my lips as I say in a phony tone of voice, "Mr. Osborn. What a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed, Ms. Blanchard. I have to say, that was quite an endearing, impressive speech, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you," is all I can say, trying to end this conversation quickly.

"Your father would've been proud," he continues, that creepy look plastered to his face. "He would be proud of the mature woman you've become. Before he died, you truly were all he ever talked about. It's like he always used to say: '_daughters are like flowers, they fill the world with beauty'_."

"He used to say that?" I ask.

"Many times," Osborn nods. "I hope you do realize, Elizabeth, that your father will always be forever proud of you. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't. Thank you, Mr. Osborn."

"Oh, please. After all these years, I think it's safe to say that we should be passed formalities, Elizabeth. Please, call me Norman."

"Sounds fair, Norman." I say when my eyes dart behind him to see if the business man is still there. When I realize he is, I continue, "Please, excuse me, Norman." He allows me to pass and when I do, I briefly turn to him and say, "And thank you." He only nods in return before strutting off somewhere. I release a sigh of relief, briefly accepting that fact that I escaped his wrath.

I walk towards the business man, determined to find out what he wants. The business man crosses his arms and leans casually against the tree as I advance. So many questions swim through my head, regarding this strange man.

"Remarkable speech," the man says politely as I arrive in front of him. As I'm looking closer now, I realize that he is a bit older, probably somewhere in his forties with thinning hair. He strips off his glasses as he looks at me. For a moment, I don't know what to say.

"Um, thanks. I guess." Wow. _What a lame reply_, I think to myself.

"Very inspiring," the man speaks.

"Are we going to talk about the speech or talk about who you are and why you're hiding suspiciously back here?" I ask, going straight for the point. Might as well just get it over with instead of dragging it on.

"So much like your father." The man comments, sounding very thoughtful. I hesitate briefly, more questions whirling and poking at me.

"What do you know of my father?"

Instead of answering the question like I hope he would, the man changed the subject smoothly, "Oh. Where are my manners? I'm sorry, sweetheart." He holds up a hand, gesturing for a hand shake. I cautiously grasp it firmly when he introduces himself with a warm smile, "Phil Coulson, Agent of Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate." I only nod confused and he laughs, "Of course, we like to refer to ourselves as S.H.I.E.L.D."

"That's quite a mouthful," I remark as I release my hand from his shake.

"Indeed it is." Coulson says.

"I'm Elizabeth Blanchard." I introduce myself.

"I know. Your father tells us a lot about you."

_That sounds a bit creepy. _I grimace and say, "You do know my father?"

"Yes, I do. Him and I, we've been business partners for the last twenty years. He controlled half of his time at Oscorp and the other half at S.H.I.E.L.D. He was a very dedicated man, very committed to his work—"

I interrupt, "Mr. Coulson—"

"I prefer _Agent_ Coulson."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I say, "Agent Coulson, I'm afraid that I don't know what you're talking about. My father never once worked for a company called S.H.I.E.L.D. I know my father better than anyone."

"Are you sure about that?" asks Coulson, irritatingly calm.

"Yes!" I snap.

"I'm afraid to disagree with the fact that you claim to know your father better than anyone if you didn't know that he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I don't even know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is. I've never even heard of it."

"We're kind of exclusive."

"Like a private club kind of thing?"

"More like a private organization kind of thing. Kid, I never intended for you to find out this way but now that you know a little bit of your father's secret background that he surprisingly never told you about; there's something else that you should know. Well, maybe a few other things you should know."

"Like what?" I ask, briefly turning around to see if anyone is witnessing this. No one seems to even notice that I took off. I spin back towards Coulson.

He frowns and mysteriously pulls out a file from inside his jacket. I watch intensely as he opens the file and says, "Like your father's factual death. I assume your mother informed you that he died in a crash, am I correct?"

"Yes…" I say, sounding a bit uncertain. What is he getting at?

"Your father never died in a fatal car wreck." Coulson solemnly informs me. For a moment, my heart stops as I stare blankly at him. "He was unfortunately murdered on the job." My mouth dries up, I look at him with expressions of shock, hurt, anger, confusion… So many emotions surge through me like a bolt of lightning.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this, especially today. But I had no choice." He gingerly hands me the file he pulled from his jacket. I skim through the information that clearly states his death. My hands quiver and my face pales of a ghost. "A few weeks ago, at a remote research facility during an evacuation, your father and his good friend, who you may know, Dr. Erik Selvig."

"I know him. He and my dad we're friends for years. I always referred to him as Uncle Selvig." I confirm in a shaky voice.

"They were both leading a research team, both of them experimenting on a powerful energy source of unknown potential known as the Tesseract." Coulson explains. "The object was radiating an unusual form of energy. Before we could do anything, the Tesseract activated and opened up a worm hole, allowing an unknown who claims to be from another realm."

"What are you saying?" I ask, feeling more tears about to sprout again.

Coulson grasps my shoulders firmly, apparently sensing that I am about to break down any moment. He looks me resolutely in the eye and says, "Kid, I'm only here to notify you on what you need to know. I can't stand the idea of you not knowing the truth of how he did die."

"Then how did he?" I cry out.

"He was fatally speared through the heart." He says quietly. I don't realize that tears are streaming down my face at this point. Sympathy etches across his face as he says, "And Dr. Selvig, he has been compromised along with a few of our own."

Suddenly, anger blooms through my chest like an awakening flower, "You _negotiated_ him?! How could you do that?!"

"We had no choice. Which is why we need to get him back and repossess the Tesseract before the entire Earth is subjugated."

"Oh my God," I breathe out. All of this feels like massive weight being on my shoulders. I run my hand through my hair as I feel a wave of anxiety sweep over me again.

"Are you okay, kid?"

"No, I'm not okay. But I appreciate the concern."

"I don't think sarcasm is your thing."

"I don't think it is either."

"Glad we can agree on that."

"Same here," I say as I place both hands on my head, trying to remain calm and not freak out like I really want to at the moment. "So, what the hell are we supposed to do about this?" I finally ask, surprisingly composed.

"All right, so let's say S.H.I.E.L.D. is a boat and we're going fishing, you're going to be the bait and we are going to throw you in the water to catch the fish. When the fish gets you, we'll pull you back up and kill the fish."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Okay then."

"Here," Coulson reaches into his jacket again and pulls out a business card. "If you are interested in involving with us or want to retrieve more information, please, don't hesitate in calling me. It was truly an honor to meet the daughter of one of the best men I've worked with. It's nice to meet you officially, kid. I'm sorry about your loss; your father will always be remembered a great man."

"Thanks," I say, weakly taking the card as Coulson nods firmly and just like that, he walks off as I stand there, trying to understand what just happened.

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After the funeral ends, my mother takes my brother and I back to her house. I am still in shock over what happened, including the creepy look-alike and meeting Coulson. As soon as I arrive at her house, I feel completely and utterly exhausted.

Automatically, my body pushes itself up the stairs, not thinking of anything else. I don't feel anything but numbness grazing all over. I trudge towards my old bedroom. Memories flood into my head erratically. I try to push the memories back, not wanting to experience another round of pain and loss. Trying to ignore my childhood room and all the painful pictures surrounding me, I force myself into my old bathroom, switching on the lights. The bathroom lights up luminously, blinding me momentarily. Silently, I turn the knob in the bathtub, water sprouting from the faucet.

I test the temperature of the water until I feel satisfied, allowing the steaming water to fill the tub. As it prepares, I strip down the depressing funeral clothing that I was forced to wear for the dreadful occasion. A cool breeze grazes over me and I shiver. I climb over and step inside the tub, sighing in content from the warmth of water, sending therapeutic waves over me.

Forgetting to tie my lengthened hair back, all the strands of my brown hair float around in the water creating a halo. I relax and rest my head against the back of the tub. My thoughts and feelings are much dimmer and fragmented as the searing water continues to relax my muscles. I am succumbing to the heat of the water and the wonderful luxury of not having to do or worry about anything briefly.

I close my tired, swollen eyes.

A sigh is released from my mouth. _Don't think, just relax._ _Forget about the fact that your father and possibly mother lied to you about S.H.I.E.L.D., about his death._ I frown when I think that. If it is true, why would he keep it a secret? Hell, why would my mother lie about his death like that? She doesn't think I would find out? I make up my mind of what I have to do.

I have to confront her.

Determined on getting answers from my mother, I open my eyes but only to see a terrifying face that is hovering above my own. It's the same girl from earlier today, her throat is still slit, and blood stains all over her.

A bloodcurdling scream erupts from my mouth.

The look-alike grins devilishly and clicks her tongue, in an almost mocking fashion before saying in a sickly sugar-coated voice that makes me cringe, "_That just won't do_." Before I can defend myself, she forcefully plunges me down in the water, holding me down to where I can't breathe. My lungs clog up with bath water. I fight against her force but she's too strong. Violently, almost like a fish out of water, I thrash against her strong clutch. _I can't breathe._

My eyes burn as I look at the surface of the water, seeing the distorted image of me drowning the real me.

Suddenly, I'm no longer being held underwater. I wretch myself up and brutally cough up a storm right as my mother bursts through the bathroom door.

"Oh my goodness, honey! Are you all right? I heard you screaming!" she asks frightfully, grabbing a towel and hoisting me up from the tub, wrapping the towel around my drenched body.

I'm still trying to catch my breath as I reply in a throaty tone, "Why did you lie to me about my dad's death?" She freezes. I wipe my soaked hair out of my face as I ask again, my voice sounding gravelly, "Or how come you never told me that dad was working at S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever it's called?"

"Honey, you've had a long day—"

"_Stop lying to me_!" I screech, plunking myself down on the toilet seat as harsh tears burst out. My entire chest feels like I'm being constricted of air as I cry, my mother watching me with guilt clearly washed over her worn-out yet lovely features. "Mom, please," I whisper softly. "Tell me the truth."

"Elizabeth, please comprehend that I never wanted to hurt or let you find out this way. You just need to understand that—"

"Understand _what_?" I hiss angrily. "You lied to me about my father's death and you expect me to be _okay_ with that?"

"No, I don't. But I expect you to understand." I only stare at her as she continues, "Honey, you know I love you very much. When I learned of your father's death, I couldn't take it. It completely tore at me from the inside." I cry even more as I cup my face with my hands. "I'm so sorry, honey. Please understand that I was only trying to protect you from the truth."

"And because of that, you lost my trust." I say, clutching at my towel painfully as I feel complete and utter betrayal of my mother's words sinking into my chest. Without even sparing another look at my mother, I hoist myself from the toilet and stride into my room, getting dressed, packing my things.

"What are you doing?" my mother asks dejectedly, tears threatening to escape.

"I'm leaving." I say absentmindedly. "I can't stay here, mom. I just can't. I need some time away from you. Away from this house. I need to set the wrong things right."

"Honey, please, I'm so, so sorry—"

"'_Sorry'_ is not going to cut it for me this time, mom." I say quietly, quickly zipping up my suit case and retrieving the business card that Coulson left for me. "Don't worry, I'm not going on a suicide mission if that's what you're thinking." She gives me a teary look as I look at her once more briefly, "Bye mom."

I grab my suit case with a stony expression on my face as I pass my mother and head down the stairs. When I'm about to open the front door, I see Johnny standing in the middle of the living room. Due to the expression on his face, I'm assuming he heard a lot.

"You're leaving." It isn't a question.

"I'm sorry, kiddo." I apologize, dropping my suit case and walking towards him being engulfing my little brother into a hug. He clutches on painfully tight and I realize just how much he's growing. I sniffle back tears as I relish in my brother's hug. Truly, I will miss him. A whole lot.

"I love you, Lizzy." He mumbles before pulling away.

I attempt a weak smile and comb back his growing hair with my fingers. "I love you too, little punk." I joke lightly before heading back towards the front door and seizing my suit case.

Casting one last look to Johnny, I open the front door and walk out, Agent Coulson's business card gripped tightly between my fingers.

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	3. Chapter III

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel-related.

Author's Note: Happy New Year! I wish you all and your friends and family a joyful, bright, healthy, prosperous and happiest new year ahead :D Thank you all so much for the wonderful support for keeping this story alive! Virtual individual hugs and kisses for everyone =)

All's Fair in Love and War

Chapter III

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"_Lizzie. It's mom. Please call me back. I'm so sorry about what happened last night. I didn't know how to process everything; I should've told you the truth. I was so scared when you walked out the door. Where are you? Please, just call me and let me know if you're okay and safe. I'm sorry. And I love you so much. Please don't forget that. Call me back, Liz_."

Still feeling painfully numb from last night, I delete yet another voicemail that my worried mother decided to leave me. In all honesty, I don't want to talk to her at the moment. I need time. That's all I need. I couldn't stay home. I just couldn't. Especially not after my mother lied to me like that; lied to my face when I already knew the painful truth.

After I left my mother's house, I dialed Agent Coulson's number. He was surprisingly pleased to hear that I wanted to get involved with the madness of everything that's happening. Honestly, I absolutely need to be involved within everything at the moment.

Quickly in no time, I was introduced from Agent Coulson to the amazing and legendary Captain America. I was stunned when I saw him in the actual flesh. I remember when I was younger, my father used to tell me stories of the world's first superhero. It was a shock to come face-to-face; it was like the stories came to life. His appearance was actually quite breathtaking; his aura breathed justice. I could tell he came from a life of pain. We both wanted something: justice. To be fair. When I first looked him in the eye, I felt an immediate connection between us; as if we understood each other, how we both felt.

Pain.

On the inside, I yearn for the delicious urge to avenge for my father's death. Justice has never been this gruesome to me. It pains me to be told such an ugly lie about my father dying in a fake car accident. If Coulson never showed up at the funeral to inform me on that, I would be fed a disgusting lie for the rest of my existence.

A frown stretches across my lips from thinking of that. It disgusts me, to be honest. How can my mother lie to me like that? It's not something you can just sweep under the rug.

"I hate her," I whisper harshly, glaring at the polished floor of the QUINJET that I am occupied in. I am sitting next to Agent Coulson in the massive unit aircraft while Captain America (he preferred me to call him Steve) is across from us, holding a tablet, intently watching the footage of the legendary Hulk's attack on the Army at Culver University.

"No, you don't." Coulson says quietly, sounding quite determined that I truly didn't meant what I said. Slowly, I tear my eyes from the aircraft floor as I turn to glance at his gentle face.

"But I do." I retort fiercely. I feel nothing but hate and confusion and anger and sadness towards my so-called mother. Still, despite my poisonous words, Coulson looks at me doubtfully. His face clearly translates that he doesn't believe me. I don't care if he doesn't believe me or not; it's not going to change the fact that I am beyond pissed at my mom.

"You're angry."

"Clearly."

"You're confused."

"Obviously."

"You're hurt."

"Evidently." I furiously huff. Coulson stares at me with those gentle eyes of his and pats a kind hand on my knee.

"She wanted to tell you. Did you know that, kid?" he asks softly. I only shake my head briefly. He continues, "Your father was a very proud man. Good man, as well. He had many good intentions; one of them being to keep you and your brother safe."

I stay strong as I listen intently to his calm words. My foot taps nervously as I look at Agent Coulson; a bad habit of mine whenever I get anxious, another bad habit being nail biting.

"Believe me when I tell you this, kid; your mother always feared of keeping the truth from you. He specifically ordered her not to. Your father, he never wanted you to know or to involve you in any of this, ever."

"And that's exactly what you're doing," I say, narrowing my eyes a bit on the trained Agent sitting beside me.

"With good reason, kid." Coulson replies smoothly. "His position in S.H.I.E.L.D., it's truly a dangerous place to set yourself in. He had his allies, then he had his opponents. There's a lot of stuff out there in the world that are cruel and capable of things that you wouldn't even dream of in your worst nightmares, kid."

"Wanna bet?" I ask lightly, a slight chill striking down my back of the cold and dark memories of the nightmares I've been faced with since a young girl.

Coulson smirks at my retort and continues, "Don't stay mad at your mother, kid. She was only keeping her word and trying to keep you safe. Just don't hold a nasty grudge against her. Life's too short for that. You'll regret it."

"How can I not hold a grudge against her? She lied to me about my father's murder and then continued to openly lie to me after I confronted her? Tell me, Agent Coulson, if you were in my place, wouldn't you feel the same way? Betrayed? Hurt?"

"I would feel a lot of things, kid. No doubt about that. But in time, I would learn to forgive her for her mistakes. You need to realize to yourself that perhaps she was terrified of telling you the truth and scared of how you would react."

"I only wish that she would've been honest with me despite how nasty the truth is." I say, feeling the grief shoot through me like a painful grenade. With a glum smile on his face, Coulson pats my shoulder comfortingly.

"You're a very wise kid. Don't ever change that. I knew there was a reason why you're father always spoke so proudly on your behalf."

"Thanks, Agent Coulson." For the first time this morning, I give him a real smile; not one that is forced but a true, genuine one. He returns the sincere gesture.

"Anytime, kid." He pats my knee one last time before hoisting himself up from beside me, moving towards the Pilot of the aircraft.

The busy Pilot says to Coulson professionally, "We're about forty minutes out from base, sir." Coulson, himself, nods to his alley before moving towards Steve with an excited glint in his eye. I cross my legs and watch their exchange curiously.

Steve, without prying his eyes away from the tablet, asks Coulson, "So, this Doctor Banner was trying to replicate the serum that was used on me?" Coulson only gives him a look as Steve continues, "Didn't really go his way, did it?"

Coulson steps closer to Steve, "Not so much. When he's not that thing though, guy's like a Stephen Hawking." I stifle a laugh when I glance at Steve's face. He looks so adorably confused. When Steve peers over in my direction to see me giggling at him, his face, usually pale and stoic, heats up quickly, making me want to chuckle even more. It's cute and different, all at once, to see the fearless Captain America get so embarrassed so easily.

"He's like a smart person." Coulson continues, oblivious of mine and Steve's silent exchange. "I got to say, it's an honor to meet you, officially." I see Steve give Coulson from what it appears to be an involuntary smile. "I sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while I was sleeping."

I accidentally snort when I hear Coulson say this. Now, it's Coulson's turn to redden bashfully. Again, Steve just looks downright uncomfortable during all of this. Honestly, this entire situation is kind of cheering me up.

"I mean, I was…" The professional S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent stumbles upon his words in embarrassment as Steve places down the tablet and rises from his seat to go stand at the base of the aircraft. "I was present while you were unconscious from the ice."

"Save it, Coulson. Clearly, you're a stalker." I joke, trying to contain a laugh. When Steve's not paying attention, Coulson quickly spins toward me.

"One more word out of you, kid, and I'm dropping your ass back at your mom's house. You want that?" he threatens me quietly so Steve won't hear. I frown.

"No. Sorry, sir." I apologize quickly. Coulson places an appreciated smile on his face.

"I should threaten you more often, kid." He chuckles, turning back to casually face Steve, obviously trying to impress him. I roll my eyes at his childish behavior. He clearly adored Captain America as a child; still obviously does. _Don't ruin it for him, Lizzie_, my subconscious warns me, _let him live the dream_.

"You know," Coulson clears his throat, capturing Steve's attention. "It's really, it's just a… just a huge honor to have you on board."

"Well, I hope I'm the man for the job." Steve replies. I swear, I think I saw Coulson swoon.

Coulson nods enthusiastically, "Oh, you are. Absolutely. Uh… we've made some modifications to the uniform. I had a little design input."

Steve peers at him questionably, "The uniform? Aren't the stripes and stars a little…?"

"Old-school?" I supply.

"I was going to say old-fashioned…" Steve says, obviously confused of my use of slang. I shrug.

"That works too." I say, giving him a gentle smile.

"With everything that's happening, the things that are about to come to light, people just might need a little old-fashioned." The Agent explains slowly to Steve, the sentiment slowly sinking in. I stare at the two men, observing Coulson's theory in my mind. Maybe Coulson is perhaps right; we might just need a little _old-fashioned_.

When I pry my eyes away from the two men who engage in another conversation, I visibly jump in shock as I notice that I am not sitting alone. Beside me rests my identical hallucination twin. Fear shoots through me like a sharp bullet.

The last time I saw her, she was still wearing that bloody dress and her neck was still slit. This time, her features have grown ghostly pale which is a shocking difference due to my normally olive-toned skin. She appears to be nothing but a menacing ghost with her gory features and her menacing smirks. Carefully, I watch her and notice that she is only staring forward at nothing.

I slowly glance to Coulson and Steve to see if they are seeing this. Unfortunately for me, they are betrothed in deep conversation. Fearfully, I crane my head back to see my hallucination. She is looking right at me; her soulless, blackened eyes staring deep into my own, sending waves of terror crashing inside of me like a fatal train wreck.

"Why do I keep seeing you?" I ask myself painfully quietly, both in terror and perplexity all at once. It's a terrifying wonder. She offers me a disturbing smirk and I cringe from the terrifying sight.

"_Tell me, Elizabeth; are you afraid of me_?" I don't answer which confirms her interesting question. Her smirk widens if possible. "_Good. You should be. Be terrified of my unnerving presence, Liz. It only brings me a smile to my face_."

She grins maliciously before suddenly lashing out a dangerous steel blade and without any warning, she slams it down into my thigh, slicing violently through my sensitive skin. I cry out from surprise and agony. Her malevolent smile widens as I squirm under her strong grasp of her blade. Tears of pure anguish slide down my cheeks as she tortuously digs the blade into my flesh. Blood, hot and red, pools on my lap in a nasty puddle.

I feel like I can't breathe as she leans dangerously close to my ear and whispers coldly, "_You hear that, Lizzie? That's the joy of your agony echoing deliciously in my ears. Isn't it such an appealing sound_?"

An excruciating scream rips from my throat as she continuously makes the blade twist around in an ugly manner, creating a deeper wound in my thigh—

"Kid? Kid?! Wake up! Wake up! Damn it, kid! Wake up!"

My eyes snap open, wide and alert. Coulson is kneeling in front of me, pure concern written all over his features. Steve stands behind him, looking down at me intensely. I realize that I am still sitting in the same spot inside the aircraft.

Sweat is beaded along my forehead, I can tell. My breathing is extremely labored. I peer around the aircraft, no sign of that malicious identical twin anywhere. It dawns on me; I must've been dreaming, a really terrible dream.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" Coulson exclaims, extremely flustered over what happened. "Are you okay? You scared me! I thought you were dying or something; it sure sounded like it."

"I'm sorry," I apologize feebly, pushing back some of my hair out of my face. "I didn't mean to freak you out; it was only just a bad dream, that's all." Steve stares at me with a doubtful expression gracing his stern features.

"Ms. Blanchard, you were screaming your lungs out. You were panicking with your eyes closed. Are you sure you are all right?" asks Steve, sounding truly concerned.

I clear my throat and try to get my erratic breathing back in order as I reply in a hoarse voice, "I'm fine, sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. I'll be fine." Mutual uncertain expressions are painted on Coulson and Steve's face. "I promise." I guarantee, attempting a weak smile to assure them that I would be fine.

"Okay, kid. I believe you." Coulson says, returning the small smile before raising to his full height and returning to his spot by the Pilot. I look up and notice that Captain America is still staring down at me with that hesitant expression etched across his face. We both look at each other for a moment. I can feel his stare penetrating a hole through my body as if he's analyzing me for a project. Finally, he breaks eye contact and goes to stand next to Coulson.

I look at him, regarding him intensely before turning away to look at the floor. My quivering hand rests upon my thigh – the penetrated thigh – my fingers feel the soft denim material of my jeans. Terror blossoms inside of me like a gloomy flower awakening from deep sleep.

The most terrifying question I have to ask myself; am I going insane?

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A relieved breath exhales from my mouth as the aircraft known professionally as the QUINJET prepares to make landing down on an enormous battleship. Coulson graciously informed me that the battleship is called the HELICARRIER.

When we exit out of the smaller aircraft, I look around in every direction, amazement and pure awe coursing through my body. Daylight has never appeared more beautiful to me as I stand in admiration, inspecting every inch of the battleship. Well-trained soldiers are sprawled all over the place. Two runways on here; one with direct access to a hangar at the rear is aligned along the spine of a vessel. It's quite breathtaking.

The battleship rests floating along the beautiful ocean waters peacefully. I walk down the large ramp that leads Agent Coulson, Steve Rogers, and I down to the battleship. This is incredible. My father never once mentioned any of this?

Before I have the chance to do some exploring, a red-headed woman advances up to us, her strides filled with obvious pride. When she gets closer, I see that she is very beautiful. She appears more of a model than an Agent which surprises me. She stands straight like a pencil, very professionally, clasping her hands together in a military fashion. This makes me feel a little self-conscious as I straighten out my shoulders a bit and try to stand straight; it's kind of embarrassing.

"Agent Romanoff." Coulson introduces. "Captain Rogers," he gestures proudly to the one and only Captain America. Romanoff gives him a polite smile. Coulson then presents me, "And Ms. Blanchard."

"Elizabeth Blanchard; but you can call me Lizzie." I greet with a kind smile, holding my hand up for a proper handshake. Romanoff stares at me as if I'm some kind of threat. It makes me feel uncomfortable as I hold out my hand in an awkward position.

She peers down at my hand disgustedly and says, "Germaphobe. Thanks for the gesture anyway." Her tone doesn't sound pleasant at all.

"Oh." I utter out, not knowing how to reply to that, as I dumbly place my hand down back at my side.

Agent Romanoff regards me with that intense look in her eye before she says in a cold tone, "What is she doing here?" I return her an offended look.

Coulson, sensing a fight about to break loose, says warningly, "Agent Romanoff; have you no respect? She's here under my terms. No questions."

Romanoff retorts quickly without tearing her glaring eyes at me, "The Director won't be happy when he sees with his eye that you brought a visitor."

"She has a right to be here. Remember your place, Agent Romanoff." Coulson warns her, strangely polite about it.

Romanoff completely ignores his last warning and instead changes the subject, "They need you on the bridge. Face time."

Coulson gently grasps my arm and gestures for me to follow him, "Come along, kid."

I eagerly follow after him, relieved to be free from Romanoff's unwelcome company but not before turning back to say a quick goodbye to Steve. He returns a shy smile before I turn back and follow after Coulson.

"What was her problem?" I question furiously, referring to the unpleasant Agent Romanoff.

"Don't even worry about it, kid." Coulson sighs as we enter the bridge of the ship. A flurry of activity is being taken place; dozens of Agents sit in front of their fancy view screens and technology that I didn't even know existed.

"Oh wow," I exclaim, my eyes widening like a child in a candy store. Coulson chuckles at my reaction. Quite obviously, he takes pride in his work.

"Awesome, isn't it?" he asks.

"Well, duh. I can't believe my father never mentioned any of this." I say, quite taken-back how amazed I am by all of this.

"Agent Coulson," a deep voice booms out, slightly making me flinch. A tall, dark-skinned man wearing a black trench coat and an interesting eye patch on one eye strides over to us. His appearance is rather intimidating. He regards me carefully. "I wasn't aware that we were having visitors." He looks at Coulson for an explanation.

"Director Fury, it would be greatly in my honor to introduce Elizabeth Blanchard, daughter of late Agent Blanchard."

The expression on Fury's face changes dramatically as he looks at me, "She's Agent Blanchard's daughter? Well, why didn't you say so?" I look at him, feeling slightly shocked as his entire demeanor shifts to nice. He graciously shakes my hand as I only stare dumbfounded. "We've heard a lot about you over the years, Ms. Blanchard. Your father was one of the best men that I had the pleasure in working with."

"Um, thanks." I say with a confused smile on my face.

"We're at lock, sir." Again, another supermodel-looking Agent with dark-hair informs Fury.

"Good. Let's vanish." Fury replies to her, leaving me perplexed.

I look around in all different directions. It's truly extraordinary. There is a huge opening, I'm assuming it's a big window, in the front of the base allowing sunshine to pour into the entire base unit. Agents are preparing for take-off. Honestly, I can't even feel the large aircraft rising out from the water and soaring into the air. It's thrilling, really.

In the middle of the base unit rests from what it appears to be one of those outsized business tables where you have meetings or sessions with comfortable-looking chairs. Only there's something completely out-of-place sitting in the chair closest to me. I glare at the identical twin who sits there comfortably with a twisted smile plastered on her deadly face.

"_Well, isn't this comfy_?" she asks, almost sounding like she's mocking me.

"Get out of my head." I growl, trying to keep my voice below a whisper. She only chuckles in pure amusement.

"Who are you talking to?" I flinch when I hear someone ask this. I turn to find an unexpected surprise. Dr. Bruce Banner was standing a few feet away from me, looking at me puzzled.

"Um…" I say, glancing back at the chair to find that it is empty. Now she's just messing with me. "Nothing. I was just role-playing in my head." I curse myself for making up that stupid, god-awful excuse. Banner only nods, probably not knowing what to say to that. I flush, completely embarrassed as I fidget and try to say, "I'm sorry. Ignore that. I'm weird. Hi, Dr. Banner. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lizzie Blanchard." I offer my hand to shake. I hope that he's not a germaphobe.

Banner clasps my hand firmly, "Pleasure is all mine, Ms. Blanchard."

I nod politely before I hear a mocking voice say right behind me, "_God, Lizzie. You're so awkward; it's entertaining_." I let go of Banner's hand and turn around to find the identical twin standing right in front of me. "_Miss me_?" she asks. I only glare. She pouts, "_Aw, you're no fun_."

"Gentlemen," Fury announces as I glance at him. Turning back to my original place, I realize that the bitch is gone again. Switching my attention elsewhere, I watch as Fury struts over to Banner.

"Doctor, thank you for coming." Fury extends his hand toward Banner. He reluctantly shakes it. A remorseful side of me feels bad for Banner; I can sense that he has no passion in being here today.

"Thanks for asking nicely." Banner replies dryly. "So, uh… how long am I staying?"

"One we get our hands on the Tesseract, you're in the clear." Fury explains.

"Where are you with that?" asks Banner. Fury turns to Coulson to clarify while I notice Romanoff stares at an image of a man on one of the monitors.

Coulson says, "We're sweeping every wirelessly accessible camera on the planet. Cell phones, laptops. If it's connected to a satellite, its eyes and ears for us." That would take forever to find what they are looking for.

"That's still not going to find them in time." Romanoff protests, voicing exactly my thoughts.

"You have to narrow the field. How many spectrometers do you have access to?" asks Banner.

As everyone continues this conversation, I notice a particular empty desk and monitor a few feet away from me. A strange feeling settles in my stomach, making me want to blanch. I slowly walk towards the alluring desk, nobody even noticing me gone.

This was his station. I just know it. His monitor is blank. His files and paperwork are still left. I recognize a few picture frames sitting on the desk. Unshed tears glimmer in my eyes as I gently caress the leather of the chair before I pull it out and cautiously take a seat in it.

I sink into the chair. A small smile tugs at my lips; it's clear that he's worn this chair out to where it's actually quite comfy. My eyes glance at the pictures; there's one of the entire family from a few years ago. I was a senior in high school and Johnny was around the age of ten at the time. We all posed for a family photo, I remember we all couldn't stop laughing.

The picture actually brings tears trailing down my cheeks. For once, these tears are a good thing to me. There are a few other tiny frames of pictures, mostly Johnny's and my school portraits. In a strange way, I feel like my dad can sense that I am here. I imagine that he's proud of me. Or at least I hope.

I jump when I feel a hand clap onto my shoulder.

It's only Coulson.

"God. Don't do that." I say alarmed, my heart beating fast again.

"Sorry, kid. We're about to locate the intruder of the Tesseract. I figured while we're waiting on an exact location, I can give you a short little tour around the place."

"Sounds good to me."

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Coulson stayed true to his word; he introduced me to the rest of the aircraft and all its beauty. He didn't show me every single detail of the battleship but at least he presented most of the important bases in the entire craft. I felt like I was on an exciting field trip like back in elementary school.

Also, on the bright side, during the tour, I didn't spot the identical twin anywhere. It's creepy. Strange. I keep asking myself the scary question: why do I keep seeing _me_? A darker, more malevolent version of me? That excruciating pain that she put me through with piercing my thigh – I could feel every throbbing sensation twist inside my raw skin.

Even though it wasn't real – it still felt real. It's uncanny, really. My hand subconsciously rubs against my thigh, feeling it tingle just from the cringe-worthy thought.

"I mean, if it's not too much trouble," says Coulson to Steve. I sit at the corporate table patiently as Coulson and Steve stand side-by-side.

"No, no. Its fine," Steve assures.

"It's a vintage set." Coulson clarifies happily. "It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint, slight foxing around the edges, but…"

"We got a hit." Agent Sitwell speaks up as he stares into the monitor. I rise up from my seat and approach the Agent along with Coulson and Steve at my side. "Sixty-seven percent match. Weight, cross match, seventy-nine percent."

"Location?" asks Coulson.

"Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding."

The monitor then shows a screening of the man they are on the hunt for. My heart stops and eyes widen like saucers. No. No. No. It can't be. A man with slicked black-hair dressed in 21st Century attire wanders around in front of the museum he's apparently attending. Shamefully, I tear my eyes away from the screen and feel my heart rate amplifying even more if possible. It can't be. But it is.

It's the malicious man who I see in my nightmares.

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	4. Chapter IV

_**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Marvel-related; I only own Elizabeth Blanchard, her friends and family, my ideas that I come up with for the story. **_

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the encouraging reviews and your intriguing thoughts about the story! The responses from you all have been incredibly amazing and mind-blowing! I present to you all a special gift: a new chapter written especially for all of you. Enjoy, lovelies!_

_**All's Fair in Love and War**_

_Chapter IV_

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Fear dominates my entire being. My flourishing heart is racing dramatically inside my chest. I stare at the monitor screen that is viewing the man who haunts my dreams. He appears more menacing in reality; more intimidating. I nervously swallow a lump that's forming in my throat, making it harder for me to breathe properly. At this point, my face pales to a sickly color, my hands slick with sweat, my body fidgeting apprehensively.

Steve notices the change of my behavior as he turns to inspect me, concern painted over his handsome features.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" he asks.

No. I'm not all right. I'm far worse than all right. The man who I see in my dreams is real, apparently. My worst nightmare comes true. My nightmare is now parallel to my reality. This just can't be happening.

"I'm fine." I lie. What do I do now? I can't tell them that I unfortunately know this man. They'll ask questions. Suspicions will be marked in my path. S.H.I.E.L.D. will think of me as a threat. They'll possibly think that I'm Loki's alliance, or worse, his personal whore.

"_But if you really contemplate about it, Lizzie; you are his special whore in those scandalous dreams of yours_." The identical twin whispers into my ear; making it sound like a dirty secret – wait a second, it is. I shoot the girl an expression that clearly means _'shut up'_. I so don't want to hear from her at the moment, especially when I'm having an emotional break-down.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say to Steve before fully turning on my heel and trying to get out of the main control room to have a minute to calm myself down. I'm not sure how Banner does it; he surely seems to be the expert of managing to control his emotions; at least from what I know. I'm practically jogging as I move down the empty halls, trying to get away from people, from Agents, from everyone.

"_Looks like someone's running away from their problems_." Identical twin remarks as she keeps up with me while I slow down and pop a squat on one of the benches in the deserted hall. The light is dim around us, making this part of the hall more spooky-appearing. I sigh and lean back as I relax on the bench.

Identical twin makes herself comfy as she casually leans against the wall, crossing her arms and giving me that stupid smirk that I would love to smack off her arrogant face. Her white dress is clean this time; no blood-stains. Her neck is free of bloody wounds. She looks hauntingly beautiful so much that it almost scares me.

"_You look exhausted_," she observes.

"I am," I admit.

"_You also appear very intimidated; why so_?"

"You already know why I'm intimidated; why should I have to remind you?"

"_Very clever questions; but clever not enough_." She gives me a nasty twisted expression carved on her face. I return the glare.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"_Wouldn't you like to know_?" she taunts.

"I'm serious; who _are_ you? Why _are_ you doing this?"

"_Your stupid questions are wearing thin, poor Lizzie_." She says coldly before abruptly yanking me to my stumbling feet and mercilessly slamming me into the opposite wall. My head aches painfully while she digs her fingers into my throat; I can't breathe. I choke up, my face being painted into a purplish-color as I struggle for breath.

She leans dangerously close to my ear and whispers, "_I cannot wait to see the expression on your face when your nightmares become a living reality_."

I feebly try to claw at her hands and face, anywhere, but she's far too strong for me to handle. Her eyes appear darker than mine; emptier, filled with malice. Next, with each word she speaks, her deadly clutch on my throat increases as I struggle uselessly.

"_I may not be able to physically kill you right now; but trust and believe when I tell you this; I will make you feel the pain and torture that I suffered a great deal throughout my damned existence. You listen here, little girl; because of you, you are ruining me. Because of you_!" she screams in my face as I tremble. Finally, she releases my throat. I eagerly welcome back the air into my lungs as I slide down the wall, thoroughly fatigued all of a sudden.

She scoffs at my weakness, "_Pathetic is what you are, Elizabeth. You are nothing but a nasty bug in my path that needs to be squashed. Soon, though, sweetheart. I will make you rot into nothing; as if you never existed. Well – you shouldn't exist anyway. You never should have existed. But I'll change that; mark my words, dear. You won't be seeing the last of me_."

With that said, she completely evaporated into thin air.

I'm stunned; truly speechless. Questions swarm inside my head. This entire conversation weighs on my shoulders heavily. The way she spoke – so poisonous. Her alluring voice is like the thorn to a rose; sharp and threatening. My fingers rise up to softly touch my throat. I can feel the bruises beginning to form where her fingers practically plowed onto my neck.

Feeling so lost and confused and afraid – I emotionally and physically break-down. Tears slide down my cheeks in trails. Why am I so weak? Why must I cry like a little girl? My gut feels like it's been punched – numerous times. _Why does she want to kill me_? The question rings in my head, never once fading away.

I huddle my legs closer as I hear the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. I dare a peek up with my watery gaze; it's only Coulson. He wears a mask of weariness and apprehension. Neither of us say anything as he turns around and slides his back against the wall, sitting on the cold floor next to me, mirroring my position.

"I'm sorry if this is too much for you to handle," he begins to apologize. I instantly wave him off and he shuts up.

"No, no. It's not that. I'm just…" I pause in my sentence, fear bubbling up in my chest again. I sniffle loudly and Coulson politely hands me a handkerchief he pulls from inside his uniform. "Thank you." I say as I take the offered cloth and violently blow my nose, making the Agent beside me frown in disgust.

When I'm done, I try to give it back to him but he says, "You can keep it."

I fold the soiled cloth up in my hands as I continue, "Agent Coulson, if I tell you something, something extremely crazy, well actually, so crazy that you'll most likely think that I'm insane, which I probably am but that's not the point – if I tell you, will you promise me in return that you'll keep this between you and me?" I ask quietly, staring at the opposite wall, purposely avoiding his concerned gaze.

"Kid, you can tell me anything. I promise I won't tell a soul."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Okay," I begin, moistening my dry lips nervously as Coulson gives me a _'Go on'_ kind of look. "Well – I don't know how to explain; God, I don't even know how this has been happening. Um… I've been seeing some really strange things lately."

"What kind of strange things?" asks Coulson.

"Strange things like… like…" I stammer before realizing that Coulson and I aren't the only two beings here in this hall. I resist a jump as I notice _she_ is watching us with that penetrating stare of hers. She's giving me a warning look – if I dare disobey her, I can tell there will be serious consequences to say.

"_I wouldn't do that if I were you_…" she warns in a sing-song tone.

I tear my gaze away from her as I regard Coulson's confused one. Lamely, I finish, "Never mind, it's not important. I guess I was just a little on the emotional side when I saw my dad's desk and it's making me say things and now I'm rambling and now I can't shut up and… I should shut up."

"It's understandable for one to realize what you're going through, kid. I know I do. And don't worry, you don't need to explain yourself. In the end, I'll understand." He smiles kindly.

"Thanks for suffering through my pointless rambling." I say, forcing a smile to assure him that I'm all right even though I'm far worse from that.

Coulson chuckles, "Anytime, kid." He raises himself up from the floor and groans, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Good to know I'm getting old." He says sarcastically as I push myself up from the floor.

"C'mon, old man." I joke playfully, trying to brighten things up a bit as he only sends me a wry smile in return.

But my brightening-things-up-plan is short-lived when I hear _her_ laughing inside my head. I uneasily begin to walk with Coulson as I glance over my shoulder nervously, never once seeing her disturbing existence.

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"Absolutely not."

"Director Fury, please let me explain—"

"Ms. Blanchard," Fury exhales an annoyed breath. "This is a highly-professional espionage and law-enforcement agency; this isn't a playground for amateurs."

"If you would just allow me to further clarify—"

"There is no need for further clarification, Ms. Blanchard. My final answer is no. It is far too dangerous for a woman like yourself to stupidly and willingly place yourself as a target to lure Loki out from his frisky schemes."

"That's not what I meant at all, Director Fury. I only mean to aid the famous Captain America and Black Widow in catching him—"

"By placing yourself as a target." Fury finishes for me dryly.

"Okay, maybe that's exactly what I meant." I admit before continuing, "But perhaps it would help. Maybe this time, instead of Loki manipulating others, we can manipulate him; make him flop in his own personal chaos. It's simple, I can try to distract Loki while you guys do your little thing by being '_bad-ass motherfuckers'_ as I would politely like to put it and capture him so you can retrieve your little Tesseract-thingy."

Fury gives me a long, hard stare before finally saying in a deadpan voice, "No."

"What?" I ask, starting to grow annoyed at this point. "Why not? I'm only trying to help you here."

"Your father wouldn't want you here to help us." Fury interrupts, causing me to stop short in my words. "In fact, this is a stupid mistake; you shouldn't be here at all."

"Director Fury—"

"I'll make sure to have Agent Coulson help escort you safely out of here." Fury says while crossing his arms, avoiding my shocked gaze.

"No, please, wait. I'm sorry for suggesting that stupid plan, please, just don't make me leave. I can't leave now. I just can't." My pathetic voice drops to a whisper. "That monster killed my father."

"Ms. Blanchard, I understand your oath on wanting to avenge your father's death; but believe me, your dad, he wouldn't want that. Especially not from you."

I open my mouth to speak but close it, the words dying on my lips.

"Go back home, Ms. Blanchard, where you're safe. It's where your father would want you to be." Fury says to me lastly before turning away from me, excusing himself as he went to do business around here. I'm left standing here in the middle of the unit base, numerous Agents shuffling around me as a single thought flies to my mind: _I don't want to be where my father wants to be._

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_This chapter is more of a filler; sorry about that. I hope you all enjoyed nonetheless. What do you think will happen next? Will Lizzie disobey Fury? Stay tuned for next chapter! _

_Review; you know you want to ;) _


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